Fascination
by Sariniste
Summary: AU in 1950s Paris. Private detective Sora Inoue is hired to investigate wealthy playboy Ichigo Kurosaki. Sora's innocent but overly curious younger sister Orihime gets too involved with the case. IchiHime romance for FLOL 2011-12 Fanwork Challenge.
1. Chapter 1

**Fascination – Chap. 1**

**A/N:** IchiHime fanfic written for the FLOL 2011-12 Fanwork Challenge.

**Summary:** AU in postwar Paris. Celebrated private detective Sora Inoue is hired to investigate wealthy playboy Ichigo Kurosaki who is suspected of having an affair with a rich businessman's wife. Sora's innocent but overly curious younger sister Orihime gets too involved with the case. Based on the plot of the 1957 Billy Wilder movie "Love in the Afternoon." Includes quotes and portions of scenes from that movie.

**Genre:** Romance/Drama/Humor.

**Main Characters:** Sora, Ichigo (and his hollow), Orihime. Other Bleach characters have cameos (Byakuya, Rukia, Urahara). No character death in this story.

**Pairings:** IchiHime of course! Some implied Ichigo x other Bleach characters, but nothing serious. ;)

**Note:** This is an AU, set in Paris around 1950. In this story, Orihime is 18 and Ichigo is 25, so they are much older than they would be in canon, and Ichigo has had more life experience. They do not know each other when my story begins. As a result, expect them to be slightly OOC, but I've tried to keep their essential characters true to the original… I just imagined what their first meeting would be like if they were in this situation. Think of it as another one of their five lifetimes. :)

There will be four chapters, and I will post one every other day starting on August 15th and finishing on August 21st (which is also my one-year anniversary writing fanfiction).

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Bleach or Love in the Afternoon.

_This story is dedicated to my grandmother (see chapter 2 author's note for reason)._

(Originally posted 8/15/2011.)

XxXxXxX

Sora Inoue shifted his position slightly against the cold stone of the clock tower, and brought his camera up to bear one more time on the window across the street he had identified. Then he lowered it, sighing. It was still too dark for anything to be seen.

He grimaced as he stretched his stiff limbs. It was commonly believed that the life of a private investigator was glamorous. However, in his experience, it was filled with long, tedious stakeouts like this one. He had never been involved in a shootout or anything dramatic. Patience was a more valuable skill in his profession than the ability to use a gun or chase down a criminal.

He drew his brown trench coat more closely around himself in the pre-dawn chill. Across the river, he could begin to see the outlines of trees just barely leafing out. He smiled to himself. Springtime in Paris, often lauded as the most romantic time and place on the planet. And a moment later as he watched the rim of the sun peek out over the Paris skyline, turning the sky a pale pink above golden clouds, with the still-dark Seine painting a pale reflection of the sky below the shadowed buildings, he mused to himself that the saying was likely true.

As if thinking of love in Paris reminded him of his work, he turned back to the window of the hotel across the street and once more raised the heavy camera with its powerful telephoto lens, and pointed it at the shuttered window. As he was gazing through the lens, it happened. The curtains were drawn back and the shutters flung open. As Sora watched, a man and a woman stepped out onto the balcony to watch the sunrise, their faces illuminated by the rising sun. He raised the camera one more time, focused it on the two faces, and clicked.

The man had a shock of bright hair in an unlikely orange color, sticking out in spikes all over his head. He had handsome features even from this distance. The woman was much shorter than the tall man, perhaps nearly half a meter. She had short black hair and a flashing smile as she looked up at the man. The man took her in his arms, bent to kiss her.

Click.

As they kissed, Sora snapped several more excellent pictures of the two. By the time the woman had lowered her veil and returned inside, he knew his wait had been rewarded and he had obtained the proof his client needed.

Sighing with satisfaction, he bent to replace all his photo equipment in the case, picked it up and began the long trek down the stone stairs. The sun was now fully free of the horizon and was spreading its warmth over the Paris streets. Slowly, the city was coming to life, the calls of the street vendors making themselves heard in the stillness, the early morning traffic beginning to wend its way along the narrow streets.

Sora stayed alert as he walked the streets towards home, but there was a pleased smile on his face. He entered the gate of the apartment building and took the stairs two at a time.

Once inside his small apartment, he went straight to the closet he used as a darkroom and began working on developing his film. Within less than an hour he had several excellent 8 by 10s that he hung up to dry on a bit of clothesline hung from wall to wall in the narrow closet. He held one up, the developer dripping off the paper. Yes. A perfect likeness. His client would be quite satisfied.

"Sora?" His young sister was calling from within the apartment. The two of them lived alone; since he was fifteen years older than her and their parents were dead, he had acted as a father to her since she was three years old. She had just turned eighteen, and in a couple of weeks she would be performing with her orchestra at the theatre. She studied the cello, and his heart nearly burst with pride every time he heard her play.

"I'm here, Orihime," he said, exiting the darkroom and closing the door behind him carefully, one sample photo in his hand.

"Oh, Sora," she called out. "Did you just get in from a case? It's so early!" She met him at the door of the parlor, a cheerful smile on her face. "I made breakfast: soba noodles with jam and lentils!" She stood tall and slender in the doorway, a heavy fall of auburn hair cascading halfway down her back.

"Ah, thank you, Orihime." He sat at his desk and began rummaging through his papers. "I don't think I'm that hungry this morning." He looked up at her. "But do make sure to eat a good meal yourself."

Her grey eyes sparkled at him. "Did you close your case, Sora?" She spotted the photo he had brought in and swooped down and picked it up. "Ah! What a handsome man!" She turned her large and very curious eyes on him. "What is his name?"

Sora frowned at her. "A sweet and innocent girl like you should not be concerned with the likes of a man such as this." He plucked the photo out of her hands. Then his expression lightened. "Although, I have to admit he is responsible for a good portion of my income."

"Ah, but I think I recognize him," Orihime said, placing a finger on her chin. "Let me see… only last week, the newspaper had a photo of the rich American businessman, Ichigo Kurosaki, come to visit Paris." As Sora shook his head, refusing to look up, Orihime continued. "I recognize him from your files, Sora." She smiled somewhat dreamily. "He's certainly the most handsome man in your files."

Sora raised his head, his eyes stern. "He's certainly the most no-good man in my files."

"Oh, how can you say that?" Orihime put her head on one side and gazed up at the ceiling. "He's young, and handsome, and rich… and the women all love him."

"Exactly," said Sora. "Too many women love him… and he is not interested in any of them. Orihime," he said sternly, noting her dreamy smile, "you should not have silly romantic dreams about someone who only plays with women and does not love, and who is beyond your reach anyway. Why not think about someone closer to home, like that nice young Ishida boy who seems so interested in you?"

Orihime sighed. "Uryuu is very nice," she said, her eyes going once again to the black-and-white photo of the strikingly handsome man.

"Now go eat your breakfast," said Sora. "I have a client coming in half an hour and I shall need to receive him in the parlor."

"Yes, Sora," said Orihime obediently as she retreated to the kitchen.

Alone at his desk once more, Sora shook his head at his sister's romantic fancies. She was so young, and far too innocent for the world around her.

XxXxXxX

There was a knock at the door and Sora went to answer it. The man at the door was tall and very pale, with striking, aristocratic features and long, straight black hair bound up in a set of intricate white headpieces. Sora recognized them as _kenseikan_ that marked their owner as one of the Japanese nobility, although the man was dressed in an elegant— and very expensive— Western business suit. He bowed to the man and ushered him into the office. Although he knew the man's name, his client had indicated that he preferred to remain anonymous, so Sora pretended he did not in order to indulge him.

"Welcome, Monsieur," he said, indicating a chair in front of his desk. "Would you like some tea?"

"No, thank you," said the man in a cold, indifferent voice. "I am here to hear your final report; that is all."

"Ah, yes." Sora gave a sigh indicating faint regret. "I'm afraid to report, sir, that your suspicions were justified." He spread the photos from the morning out on the desk.

The two were so absorbed in their task that they did not notice a pair of inquisitive grey eyes peering through the transom from the next room.

The black-haired man bent to examine the images, his face impassive. After a moment, his expression darkened. "So it is true," he said. "Although, it is not as bad as it could be. I had reports that my wife, Hisana, had been seen with this _man_." His voice dripped so much contempt into the single syllable that Sora shuddered inwardly. "However, this is my sister." His eyes narrowed. "Still, it is a blot of shame on our family name, one I must remedy at once. No American peasant may be seen sullying a member of our family. It is unthinkable." He stood, and from a hidden pocket in his suit drew out a gun.

Neither man saw the pair of grey eyes widen in shock.

"Where did you say this Kurosaki was staying?" the noble asked.

Sora cleared his throat. "Uh, the Ritz Hotel. However, sir, I must advise that you do nothing drastic."

The black-haired man looked through him. "Have the bill sent to our family estate. Thank you for your services." With that, he swept out of the apartment.

Sora stood looking after the man a moment, then shrugged. There was nothing he could do in any case. It was clear that his client was used to doing everything his own way.

"Sora, Sora, you must do something!" Orihime had burst through the door from the kitchen and was clutching his lapels, her face contorted with emotion.

"Why, whatever are you talking about, Orihime?" asked Sora, gently disengaging her fingers from his clothing and returning to his desk.

"That man!" Orihime cried. "He's going to shoot Kurosaki! Didn't you see that gun?"

Sora narrowed his eyes at his sister. "Were you spying on us?"

"Of course not—" She lowered her eyes. "Well, yes. But it's in a good cause," she cried. "We need to stop him, to prevent a crime!"

"Orihime," said Sora, "no crime has been committed. And you should not spy on me. It's best for you if you stay out of my cases. They are not appropriate for an innocent girl like you."

"But Sora," she said, her grey eyes wide and beseeching, "he's going to kill him."

"Orihime, I'm certain that it was only a figure of speech. Besides, I'm sure Kurosaki will be quite capable of protecting himself."

"But against a gun, Sora, no. You must do something!" she urged once again.

"Orihime, if I went to the police, they would only say that no crime has been committed. And to go to Kurosaki would be a breach of client confidentiality, and for what? Nothing. No, Orihime," he said, shaking his head in warning. "You must simply forget about this, and get back to practicing your cello. No, I don't want to hear anything more about it," he said sternly as she appeared to be about to object once more.

XxXxXxX

Alone in her room, Orihime lay on her stomach on her bed, a frown wrinkling her forehead. She shot a quick glance at the door, then slipped a hand into the space between the wall and the bed. Extracting a thick scrapbook, she laid it out on the pillow and opened it.

Inside were numerous newspaper clippings from the society page reporting on the doings of Ichigo Kurosaki. The press seemed to have a fascination with him for his beauty, wealth, and many scandalous activities. Orihime's eyes lingered on his handsome face as she sighed. It was probably quite strange to have such a crush on a person she had never even met, but ever since she had set eyes on his newspaper photo during a scandal in Paris last year, she had been obsessed with him. He was so good-looking, with that lush pair of lips, gorgeous thick hair, and such smooth skin. His arms were muscular and strong… Just looking at his photo made her heart pound, and she almost became light-headed, tingles running through her body as she stared at the clippings.

Even though everyone said he was a terrible person, she thought she could see a good heart in him. It was as though he were two people, she believed, one that didn't appear to have a soul, who constantly chased after women without caring for them and brazenly enjoyed mindless corporate battles for money… and another person, who came out in some of the quieter articles, describing how he donated money to help the downtrodden, how he was protective of his younger sisters, or volunteered to work with children. She had seen one photo of him holding a young girl who had been beaten up by ruffians, and she saw, even in the grainy photo, the kindness and sorrow buried deep within his eyes as he hugged the little girl tightly.

Sora would say she was naïve, of course. But somehow she felt a bond with the orange-haired man. Strangely, she felt as though she knew him from somewhere. As though she had dreamt of him, or had some hazy memory of him in her past. Somehow, she couldn't shake the feeling in her heart that in the past she had sworn her love for him, and that he had protected her, and that she had sworn to protect him. She shook her head. Sora would call those dreams silly, girlish fantasies.

She returned her gaze to the most recent photo. Now he was in danger, here in the real world.

There surely must be something she could do to protect the man! She couldn't, in good conscience, just allow events to go on, even though it seemed her brother was determined to do nothing. Regardless of her feelings, it was her duty as a human being to prevent a murder from being committed. There must be something… Her lips thinned in consternation as she considered the problem.

She sat up suddenly as an idea struck her. Hurriedly, she returned the scrapbook to its hiding place and ran out into the hall.

"Sora," she called, "I'm going out to cello practice. See you in a couple of hours."

Her brother was busy working on a document at his desk, so he merely grunted and lifted a hand in farewell. Orihime threw on her coat and hat and picked up her cello case. Then she slipped out the door and ran down the stairs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Fascination – Chap. 2**

**A/N:** Thanks to everyone for your great response to the first chapter of this story! I worked really hard on this fanfic and I really appreciate your reading and commenting on my story. I hope you continue to enjoy it.

I would like to address a couple of points that came up in the reviews to the first chapter.

First, I want to repeat the **disclaimer**: the story is based on the plot of the 1957 Billy Wilder movie "Love in the Afternoon," and it includes quotes and portions of scenes from that movie. It has to meet some constraints in order to mix the Bleach and movie story lines as well as my own ideas. Neither Bleach nor "Love in the Afternoon" is mine.

Second, I admit that I've never been to Paris, so thank you **Eldar-Melda** for kindly offering to fix any glaring errors I make in describing the French setting. Basically everything I know about postwar Paris is based on old movies and books, so please forgive my ignorance.

Someone asked me why I chose this story line, so here's the explanation. My grandmother introduced me to "Love in the Afternoon" and a number of other old movies in the years before she passed away. She always cried at the end because she thought it was so romantic.

So when I was trying to think of a highly romantic story line for IchiHime for this fanwork challenge, this is what I decided on.

However, there were some challenges with inserting Orihime's and Ichigo's characters into this story line. I hope the story is enjoyable anyway, despite some OOC-ness. In any case, I do think it's appropriate for the Five Lifetimes, One Love theme.

This story is dedicated to my grandmother.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Bleach or "Love in the Afternoon."

(Originally posted 8/17/2011.)

XxXxXxX

Orihime looked up at the very grand Ritz hotel and swallowed. Should she really be doing this? Then her resolve firmed. A life was at stake. Surely she could master her fears and her shyness and take action when so much was at stake, when someone's life needed to be protected.

Resolutely, she clutched her cello case and walked boldly into the hotel as though she belonged there. She had picked up Kurosaki's suite number from her brother's case files. Once in the corridor opposite his room, she paused, hesitating once more. Looking about her surreptitiously, she hid her cello case behind a rack of suitcases in the hall. No one was around. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her hand and rapped sharply on the door to suite 15.

There was a long pause while she waited for an answer to her knock. Just when she was about to try again, thinking they hadn't heard her earlier, the door opened abruptly and the handsome man she had only seen in pictures stood in front of her.

He was wearing only a black bathrobe, his orange hair messy above puzzled brown eyes, a slight scowl twisting his full lips.

"Yes?" he inquired, his eyes widening for a moment as he took in the young girl standing at his door, her hands earnestly clasped together.

She found herself struck dumb for a moment, and as she stood there saying nothing, his brows began to lower. Then she finally found her voice. "Oh, Monsieur Kurosaki, I'm here to tell you that your life is in grave danger," she blurted out.

He scowled more strongly. "What? Who are you, and why are you saying that?"

"Do you know a Byakuya Kuchiki?" she asked, an earnest expression on her face.

At the name, his eyes widened, and he looked up and down the corridor for a moment before motioning her into the room and closing the door. He stopped to look at her once more. Orihime was wearing a simple blue dress, but her shapely figure was hard to hide, and her beautiful hair fell like a golden waterfall down her back. Unbidden, an appreciative smile crept over his face.

"Please come in and have a seat," he said, gesturing towards the couch. "May I offer you a drink?"

She shook her head, still agitated. "Oh, no, no, there isn't time," she said earnestly. "You need to take precautions. Do you know how to defend yourself from a gun?"

A smile quirked Ichigo's lips. "Who would attack me with a gun?"

"I told you. Byakuya Kuchiki. He thinks you're sleeping with his sister. He's got a gun, I saw it, and he knows your suite number." Orihime leaned forward. How could she impress the urgency of the situation upon the man?

"Why would he ever think I was—" Just then the door to the bedroom opened and a slender, pretty black-haired girl walked out. Orihime gasped. It was the girl she had seen in the photographs.

"Ichigo, what's going on?" The girl's forehead creased in a frown as she saw Orihime.

"You're Rukia Kuchiki!" Orihime said brightly. "Your brother has a gun, and he's going to come here and shoot you and Kurosaki-san!"

"What nonsense! Nii-sama would never do that!" Then Rukia's lips twisted as she considered. "On second thought," she continued, "he certainly would." Her eyes narrowed as she looked at Orihime. "Do you have any proof?"

Orihime shook her head, wringing her hands. "If I had proof, I could go to the police," she pointed out.

Ichigo frowned. "It's easily checked." He went to the black telephone on the end table and dialed. "Front desk?" he said. "Can you please call me if a tall, pale man with long black hair held in a funny kind of… barrette comes into the hotel looking for me?"

Rukia scowled, drew her petite arm back, and punched him hard in the chest with her fist. "It's a _hairpiece_, idiot, not a _barrette_. And they're called _kenseikan_, you barbarian."

Orihime stepped back in shock at the punch, but Ichigo didn't seem to be affected. Sneaking a peek at the portion of his muscular chest visible at the neckline of the bathrobe, she understood why he wouldn't notice such a blow; he was quite well-built. She quickly looked away, blushing.

Ichigo was waving Rukia away irritatedly, focusing on his conversation. "Yes? Yes? You say he's just left the lobby and is coming upstairs?" He glanced at Orihime once again, his eyes narrowing. She widened her eyes in response. "Thank you very much." He hung up the phone. "Rukia," he said, "he's coming here."

"I heard," said Rukia. She looked at the thick curtains drawn back from the floor-to-ceiling windows. "There. I'll hide there. No time for anything else." She darted behind the curtains and flattened herself against the wall.

At that moment came a harsh pounding on the door. Orihime's eyes widened and she looked at Ichigo. Taking a breath, he said to her, "You were right. I'm sorry I didn't believe you at first. Now, can I ask you a favor?"

She took a step back. "Uh, sure," she said brightly. "Whatever you want."

He gestured at the room service cart with set for two with a bouquet of flowers with a heart-shaped card. "It's kind of obvious that I was meeting a woman here for a romantic tryst. Would you mind pretending to be that woman so that Byakuya doesn't kill me?"

Her heart pounding, Orihime nodded. "Sure. I'm glad to help."

With that, Ichigo picked her up and carried her over to the couch, where he sat down with her on his lap. Orihime was surprised by the careless strength in his muscular arms, how comforting it felt to be held, how warm it felt to sit on his lap with his arms encircling her. Then he called out, "Come in! It's open," and without warning took her lips in a passionate kiss.

His lips were soft and gentle as he pressed them to hers, nibbling on her lower lip lightly. Her mouth had fallen open in shock and as it did, he deepened the kiss, lifting one hand up behind her head to press her face to his. Orihime had never been kissed before and she had never imagined how amazing it would be. Her lips felt like they were on fire, and her entire body was tingling. Unconsciously, she pressed herself into him, completely forgetting where they were and what she was supposed to be doing.

After what seemed like a very long time, she gradually became aware that someone was speaking loudly and repeatedly clearing his throat.

"Excuse me. Excuse me!" The voice was becoming progressively louder, and Ichigo and Orihime broke apart, the dazed look on Orihime's face mirrored on Ichigo's. Then the orange-haired man looked up at his visitor.

"Oh, uh, sorry," he said, a charming grin suddenly transforming his face. "Can I help you?"

The elegant black-haired man she had seen that morning stood at the door with an expression like a thundercloud, a gun in his hand. But a puzzled look was slowly starting to come over his face. "You're Ichigo Kurosaki, aren't you?" he asked, lowering the gun.

"Yes. Why, yes, I am." Ichigo stood and carefully placed Orihime on the couch behind him, standing between her and the gun. "What of it?"

Byakuya rubbed his face with his free hand. "I was led to believe that you were having… an inappropriate relationship with my sister here in this hotel room."

Ichigo looked around the room blankly. "Your sister? Oh—" He looked at Orihime. "This is your sister?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Byakuya stared at Orihime. "No. I've never seen her before in my life." He raised his eyes to Ichigo's. "Rukia Kuchiki is my sister."

The orange-haired man gave a nonchalant shrug. "Rukia broke up with me." He eyed Byakuya, his voice calm and relaxed. "She said that I was an American peasant and not good enough for the likes of her, that I was a disgrace to the family name, and that it wasn't appropriate for us to be together."

Byakuya looked taken aback at first, then more and more gratified as Ichigo continued speaking, nodding as Ichigo listed all the reasons why he wasn't good enough for his sister. "Oh," he said, placing the gun back in his pocket. "Well, she was right, of course." Then he looked around the suite, taking in the romantic arrangement for two on the serving cart, and then his gaze finally settled on Orihime again. His eyes narrowed. "Oh," he said again. "Very well, it seems that I have received erroneous or out-of-date information." He tilted his nose upwards. "Good day, sir."

And with that, he marched out of the room.

Ichigo stared after him, shaking his head. "Not even an apology for busting into my room with a gun." He shrugged. "Oh well."

Rukia came out from behind the curtain. "Is the coast clear?" She still looked shaken.

"Yeah," said Ichigo. "Listen, Rukia, I think you better sneak out the back way. He might come back."

She nodded. "I'll get my coat."

Ichigo opened the suite door and carefully looked up and down the hall. "No one's here."

"Right," said Rukia. Without a further word she put her hat on and dropped her veil over her head, then slipped out the door, making her way toward the service entrance of the hotel at the end of the corridor.

When they were alone in the room, Ichigo looked at Orihime, his pale eyes lingering over her body. "It looks like I owe you one for saving my life." He gave her a charming smile. "Can I invite you to dinner tonight as a thank you?"

Orihime's eyes widened. She had to be home for dinner every night or Sora would get upset. "Oh, no, no, thank you, but no. I have to be— I mean, I have an appointment at five p.m. I'm done here now, and I'll get out of your life." She moved toward the door, but Ichigo intercepted her and put his arm against the wall, blocking her exit.

He smiled at her, his eyes luminous. "Oh, you're not leaving so quickly. I don't even know your name." He gestured at the lunch cart. "Besides, I have all this delicious food waiting; I'd hate for it to go to waste. Let's have lunch then."

Orihime ducked under his arm. "Eheheh," she laughed, her eyes darting to the door. "No, you don't want to invite someone like me to lunch," she said.

"Why not?" he murmured, maneuvering so that he was standing in front of her again.

"Well, what about her?" Orihime asked, pointing in the direction where Rukia had disappeared.

Ichigo laughed. "Oh, don't worry about Rukia. She was fun while it lasted, but now that Byakuya knows, she'll toe the line. She won't come back." His voice seemed pleased.

Orihime looked at him. "Doesn't that disturb you?"

"What? That she's gone? No. I never get too attached to anybody. We're friends, that's all. We understand each other." He shrugged. "Thank goodness she's not like that other girl I met in Venice recently."

"Oh, you mean the one who tried to kill herself?" Orihime asked before she could stop herself.

Ichigo stared. "How did you know that?" He shrugged again. "Yes, I should have known better. It turns out I was her first love. Can you imagine that?" He gave Orihime an insouciant grin. She noticed that his eyes had appeared to change colors a few times since she first saw him at the door, and now they were pale and shallow. "Never get involved with someone if it's their first time. Women are sentimental about their first love. It never turns out well." He stretched, an indifferent expression on his face, and went over to the cart and began pouring two glasses of wine.

"My motto is: live your life as though you're between planes." He grinned at her with those bright, uncaring eyes. "Isn't that a good one? No entanglements, no complications."

Orihime, who had been listening intently, her mouth slightly open, shook her hair back from her face, closed her mouth, and matched his smile. "Yes," she lied brashly, "I completely agree."

"You do, eh?" he asked, absently offering her a glass of wine before downing the second one. "That's good. Now, if you won't come over for dinner or lunch, how about for the afternoon? You have a date at five, so you could be here by two." He smiled at her again. "That would give us plenty of time to get to know each other."

"Between planes," Orihime said dreamily, sipping at her wine. "No entanglements…" She smiled at him, thinking that it was true that she would never get to know someone as attractive and interesting as Kurosaki in the normal way… and what would it hurt if she spent a few hours in the afternoon with him? She could be back home for dinner, and there would be no need to worry Sora. But if she were going to go out with the infamous playboy Ichigo Kurosaki, she had better act like someone else. Her imagination churned into overdrive as she pictured the kind of woman he dated. Someone quite sophisticated, experienced, worldly… like some of the women in her brother's case files.

"All right," she said, smiling now. "I'll be back at two. We'll have to make it short, so I can meet my date on time." She met his eyes with her dancing ones. "Let's see, it's Tuesday, so it must be Vince today."

He looked taken aback. "You're dating more than one person?"

"Yes," Orihime said, laughing. "No entanglements, you know. Life is so much simpler that way." She remembered a quote from one of the women in the files and tossed it out, matching his pallid eyes with her own. "_My_ motto is: she who loves and runs away lives to love another day."

Ichigo stared at her, his eyes wide in surprise again. For a moment his irises appeared to darken, then he grinned and his eyes were bright and depthless again. "Yes. Very good. Yes, it's always better that way." He opened the door for her. "See you at two!"

XxXxXxX

When Orihime knocked on the door of suite 15 that afternoon, she was dressed quite differently. Sora had, from somewhere, collected quite a wardrobe of elegant women's clothing in the course of his work. Orihime had picked up a few items, folded them into her cello case to hide them while she walked from her apartment to the hotel, and put them on in the bathroom of the Ritz.

Ichigo's eyes widened again as he welcomed her into the suite. She had looked so young earlier when she came to warn him. Now, her auburn hair was twisted into a stylishly upswept hairdo, loose curls of hair framing her face with its beautiful large grey eyes, cute button nose, and full, ripe lips that he still remembered from the kiss that morning. Her skin was clear and pale and completely flawless. She was wearing an elegant black dress with a plunging neckline that revealed an ample figure, drawn tightly down to a tiny waist. He kept himself at the last minute from staring at her cleavage and once more focused his gaze on her face, only to find himself lingering on her lips. Although he had kissed many women, she had had such a sweet, innocent taste when he kissed her… He reminded himself that her innocence must surely be all artifice, as she herself had admitted she was quite experienced. A good thing too, as the innocent ones tended to be far too clingy.

Orihime peered into the room around Ichigo's broad shoulders. He was wearing an expensive, perfectly-cut grey suit that showed off his well-built torso, tapered waist, and slender, muscular legs. The color also set off that astonishing shock of bright orange hair that was still unruly despite his obvious attempts to comb it with water. He had warm brown eyes and a beautiful mouth. She blushed as she remembered the kiss of that morning— her first kiss. It had occurred to her afterwards that at last she finally understood why the first kiss was supposed to be so special. A small, secret smile tugged at her lips as she took stock of the large, elegant hotel suite.

The room was filled with flowers, a large table had been set with a wide array of sumptuous food, and several musicians in a gypsy band were setting up in the corner. He took her coat and pulled out a chair for her as she stared around the room while trying to look blasé and sophisticated.

"My," she said, gazing at the flowers and the band in the corner. "This is quite a setup. Do you do this for all your girls?"

"Of course," said Ichigo, frowning. "Once you find a winning formula, why change it?" He gestured at one of the dishes. "Here, try the duck a l'orange. It's really delicious." He spooned some of the sauce onto her plate. "So tell me, miss, uh— you really won't tell me your name?"

"No," she said, smiling mischievously.

"It puts me at quite a disadvantage," he complained. "You know my name."

"But surely that's not a problem for someone like you. You didn't have any difficulty turning that deal in Tunisia last month into quite a success. You were at a significant disadvantage at the beginning of the negotiations, you know," she said, waving a spoon at him gently.

"How do you know so much about me?" he said, putting down his fork.

"It's not hard," she retorted. "You're in all the newspapers. All the gossip pages are…let's see… about seventy-five percent about you."

He scowled. "What is it about French newspapers? Always so interested in— what do they call them? Affairs of the heart."

"Now surely you're not going to tell me that American newspapers have no interest in such affairs?" she said, tilting her head to one side and looking at him sidelong out of large grey eyes.

He found he couldn't look away. She had an apparently artless innocence that he found wholly captivating. Most women who tried to appear innocent or naïve tended to come off as artificial, yet beneath her veneer of sophistication she simply exuded simplicity and a native unworldliness. As they continued to exchange meaningless banter, something he had always found tedious and annoying, he found himself genuinely curious about her. He attempted to probe her about her life, only to have her deflect his questions with wit and verve, somehow always managing to turn the conversation around to his life.

Before the meal was over, he found himself expounding on how to obtain oil drilling rights in Tunisia, where to find the highest quality parts for turbine engines, and how to select middle managers with the best personality traits for a large corporation. On the other hand, the auburn-haired woman remained a complete mystery to him.

As the meal progressed, he signaled the band to begin playing. Whenever he hired the band to entertain him and a lady friend, he always had them play the same song, a catchy old Viennese schmaltz called "Fascination." It was part of his winning formula. As the gypsies struck up the melody he thought to himself that it was especially appropriate today. Ah well, he sighed, his fascination wouldn't last long. It never did.

When they finished dessert, he held out his hand to her, and they moved into a dance in the large open area of the suite. As she placed her cheek against his for the dance, he noticed that she was wearing almost no perfume, something that gratified him exceedingly, as he was tired of over-scented women. Instead, as they danced, he could smell her fresh scent, a fragrance like the wind over a plain of heather, fresh with just a tiny bit of wildness in it. He shook his head. What was he thinking, musing over the aroma of a woman. Just another woman. He was not given to flights of fancy. He was a hard-headed businessman.

As they danced, he explained this all to her. He believed in being straightforward in all his dealings with women. He always warned all of them not to expect anything permanent. After all, he didn't want them to expect something he couldn't give. "Romance, you see, is just another business deal, of a different type." She nodded earnestly. "You just have to understand the rules and formulas of the affairs of the heart, which are quite similar to the rules and formulas of economics or marketing." He made an expansive gesture with his wine glass, then set it back on the table. They swung around in the dance, and he gave her a dip with an extra flourish. Her huge and beautiful eyes met his from only inches away, her bosom heaving. The sweet, fragrant scent of her intensified and his nostrils flared. His eyes flickered, and he bit his lip as two different expressions fought for dominance on his face before it settled back into neutrality.

"Oh, of course," she agreed, apparently unaware of her dance partner's inner struggle.

He focused on his own words, fought to make them logical, clear, and concise. "You put in the proper parameters," he said, "turn the crank." He made a rotary gesture with his hand. "And out comes a pleasurable time for all."

"That's very rational," she said, placing her white-gloved hand in his. "I quite agree. There's no need for irrationality or high-strung emotions. They just lead to needless complications."

"Absolutely! It's really a pleasure to meet a woman with such a practical head on her shoulders," he said, but inside, as they spun and twirled in perfect harmony, he felt just a tiny twinge that of all the women he had casually romanced, that this one of all of them should be so… practical. He shook himself inwardly. What was he thinking?

"Of course. When you've been around the block as many times as I have, you know it's just more efficient that way," she said with another of those intriguing smiles.

The musicians segued into a faster, louder movement, and the woman fell silent and rested her head on his shoulder. He felt her hair brush against his chin and noticed how well she fit into his arms. They stopped speaking aloud as they moved in the dance together. The music swirled around them, carrying them on waves of melody and counterpoint harmony, and they lost themselves in the music and the dance.

XxXxXxX

**A/N:** Was it clear when Ichigo's hollow was in control here? I wasn't exactly sure how to manage it. This is not a supernatural story, so it's more like Ichigo has two personalities, and different ones surface at different times. The cause of this conflict within Ichigo will be explained in a later chapter.

Also, it was mentioned by **Magdalena88** that 18 and 25 might be too much of an age difference for Orihime and Ichigo. But in the movie, the girl was 18 and the guy was a LOT older, like in his 40s. I didn't want to do that here, so I made Ichigo younger. But I figured if I made him 22 that would be awfully young to be so experienced in business and in love. So I made him 25.

Then I thought about making Orihime 21, but then it just struck me as rather unlikely that someone as beautiful and kind as her would be still unattached by 21, especially in this setting (women got married a lot earlier in those days). In my story she's never even been in love before (and that's one of the key plot points). So 21 would be kind of unrealistic. So I made her 18. And her being 18 comes up as another plot point later in the story, because Sora was 18 when he went off on his own with a 3-year-old Orihime.

But I told **Magdalena** that I would ask you all, my readers, what you thought. Should I narrow the age difference between them?

Wow, sorry about these loooong author's notes. :( I'll try to keep them shorter next time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Fascination – Chap. 3**

**A/N:** And here's chapter three; hope I'm giving you all enough time to read these chapters since I'm posting them in such a rapid-fire manner. Thanks again to everyone who is reading, reviewing, favoriting, or alerting!

This chapter contains scenes from the movie that I thought fit well with IchiHime. They have been modified to fit my story and the Bleach characters. In any event, I hope you like the chapter even if you've seen the movie.

**Disclaimer: **This story contains Bleach characters and is based on the plot of the 1957 Billy Wilder movie "Love in the Afternoon." Includes quotes and portions of scenes from that movie. I do not own Bleach or Love in the Afternoon.

(Originally posted 8/19/2011.)

XxXxXxX

Orihime visited Ichigo in his hotel suite again every afternoon that week. He was only supposed to be in Paris for one more night, but he had had the sudden realization that his business would do better if he could attend to it personally by staying on another week. It was purely a business decision, he told himself. It had nothing to do with his interest in the woman who had suddenly appeared in his afternoons.

"So tell me," he asked one afternoon. "What's your life like?"

"Oh, my life?" Orihime paused, trying to imagine the most scandalous thing she could say. She plucked a carnation from a bouquet on the end table and gazed down on its intricate, white folds. "I'm sure it's much like yours. You know, one party after another, just a string of fascinating men."

"Oh really? How many men have there been in your life?" Ichigo edged closer to her on the couch.

One corner of her mouth curled upwards. "Do you mean before I met you or while I've been with you?"

"You know what I mean." He couldn't stop gazing at her sweet mouth, and he wanted her gentle voice to go on talking, regardless of what she said… or how strange she made him feel. He didn't really believe that she had dated so many men… he still thought she was too innocent for that… but on the other hand, could it be possible that she was telling the truth? And why did he even care?

"Well, you've caught me off guard," she said in a teasing voice. "It would take me a while to remember them all. Can I give you an approximate figure?"

"I'm a businessman. I need exact data." It almost felt like he was punishing himself, but he had to know. Why it mattered with this one when it had never mattered before, he didn't know.

"Well, in that case, I'll start by telling you _exactly_ about _some_ of them." She twirled the stem of the carnation between her fingers, her imagination racing. "Let me see, how about… number… I think it was four." She cast her mind back over Sora's case files. She had been sneaking in to read them for years; they were utterly fascinating and so romantic, though often sordid and heartbreaking. She sighed and her face took on a pensive expression. "Number four… was a riding instructor, formerly a Cossack. Very handsome and so good with animals." She paused, but before he could interrupt, she went on, enumerating them on her fingertips. "Number five, a Yugoslav sculptor. Number six, a bullfighter."

"A bullfighter?" Ichigo scowled at her in disbelief.

"Yes, he was very brave," she said, smiling into the distance, "and he had the narrowest hips. You should have seen him in the ring, such style, such grace."

She continued, ignoring Ichigo's glower, "Hmmm, let's see… I would say, number twelve was the alpine guide."

"Number _twelve_!" Ichigo sat up and frowned at her.

"…Very strong, very blond, and he had the most attractive knees," she continued, gazing off into the distance with a little smile.

"Knees?" asked Ichigo in dismay.

"Yes, you know they wear those short leather pants?" She tilted her head. "He had cute little dimples right there." She pointed at his knees and touched them gently with the tip of her flower.

He scowled and slapped it away. "So there were twelve, then?"

"Oh no." Orihime chuckled softly. "After that, there was the banker from Biarritz. No— wait," she corrected herself. "It was the import-export man."

"Import-export?" Ichigo said in disbelief. "What did he import and what did he export?"

"Mmmm," she mused. "He imported, umm… rocket fuel and exported, ah, red bean paste."

"Doesn't sound like a very good trade to me," said Ichigo darkly.

"Oh, he was quite successful and very rich," Orihime assured him.

Ichigo stared at her. "It's hard to believe, you know, a girl your age and all those men."

She sat up and glanced casually at the clock. Surely it must be obvious to him that she was making it all up, she thought. The lies kept on becoming more elaborate and harder to believe. But what if she admitted the truth, that she had never even dated a man before? She felt a cold spot in the pit of her stomach at the thought. If he knew the truth for sure, he would say goodbye and she would never see him again. She knew him too well from all the news articles. It was unbearable to think he would say goodbye.

She told herself it was only for a few days more, until he left town, caught the next plane out of her life. She knew she was being completely irrational. But she couldn't help herself. Couldn't she just have a few days with the man she felt such a deep connection with? At the thought of those days coming to an end she felt cold desperation, and realized she needed to go or she would not be able to keep up the charade any longer.

"I'm surprised," she bantered, "I thought you knew many experienced women. But look at the time. I need to go." She stood up, walked to the closet, and slipped into her coat.

Ichigo trailed behind her. He was feeling decidedly odd. He definitely did not like the somewhat helpless craving he felt for her company. And it was certainly too soon for her to go. "Can I take you home?" he asked.

She paused and looked straight up into his face, those lovely grey eyes wide in shock. "Oh, no, it's too dangerous!" she blurted out.

"Why? Are you married?"

"No…" It was odd, after making up all these stories about imaginary men, she still felt that when it came to the important questions, she shouldn't lie.

"But you live with someone," he persisted. He would find out something about her this time.

"Yes," she admitted, looking away.

"A man?"

"Yes."

"Is he jealous?"

"Well, let me put it this way," she said carefully. "If he knew I was here…"

"But he doesn't."

"Well…" She put a finger to her chin and looked off at the corner of the room.

Ichigo moved forward, closing the distance between them. "And if you're careful, there's no reason he should know."

"No." Her face firmed. "I need to go." She took her hat and purse off the end table and lowered the veil over her face. She gave him a sweet smile and evaded his embrace, ducking under his arms with agility and slipping out the door.

After she had left, Ichigo stared at the closed door, then suddenly pounded his fist against the wall in frustration. He had never reacted to a woman like this. He had always tried to stay away from the young and innocent types; they became too serious too quickly. And then, there was all the tiresome drama, crying, scenes and recrimination. He preferred women with experience, worldly women who knew the rules. You enjoyed each other while it was convenient, then you moved on.

But this one… he found that he felt different about her for some reason. He felt oddly protective of her. He did not want to be the cause of pain or misery this time. So he hoped—he hoped that she was truly as experienced in love as she claimed to be. That she would indeed be lighthearted and careless when he inevitably left.

He had never enjoyed the company of a woman so much: she was highly intelligent, had the most incredible imagination, and was so kind-hearted. Most of the women he dated assumed his philanthropy was performed for self-serving reasons; but this woman had instantly understood his need to protect the weak and defenseless. He had found himself describing in detail the stories of some of the children he had helped, the broken and downtrodden souls he had tried to rescue, and he had seen it in her eyes: she had been honestly interested. She had cared. She was so different from the cynical and polished women— and men— that he usually interacted with.

Although he had never been jealous of the other men his women dated, there was something different this time. Perhaps it was… the juxtaposition of her apparent innocence and her lighthearted sophistication… and the _quantity_ of men this girl had been with. More than twelve! And at her age. He scowled. He couldn't stand the thought of that soft skin being caressed by another man, those huge eyes gazing at another's face, those lips… He spun angrily to face the window. Perhaps she was lying. Probably she was lying.

But how could he be sure?

He pictured again her heart-shaped face, those grey eyes thickly rimmed with pale lashes, her fall of auburn hair that he only wanted to run his hands through… recollected her sweet lips and innocent kisses. He couldn't stop thinking about her. It felt like he was going mad.

"An alpine guide," he muttered, his face darkening. Then he went into the bathroom, lowered his trousers, and examined his knees in the mirror. "Hmph," he said. "No dimples."

XxXxXxX

Ichigo sat in the hotel bar, scowling to himself as he ordered yet another martini. When it came, it was perfect as it always was in this hotel; just the way he liked it. He shifted on the buttery leather of the mahogany bar stool, staring without seeing the elegant and beautiful fixtures on the wall opposite him. He ignored the man who slipped onto the stool beside him.

That is, until the man cleared his throat and addressed him. "Hey. You look like someone who's had a very bad day."

At that, he turned to glare at the unwelcome intrusion. The man sitting beside him was blond, with a comical green-and-white striped hat pulled low over his eyes, and an expensive but ill-fitting cream-colored suit hanging from a skinny body.

"What business is that of yours?" he asked, eyes narrowing.

The man raised his hands, placating. "Hey, I'm just trying to help. When a man sits here and drinks three martinis in a row without stopping, you can guess that he's having problems. I just want to see people happy, that's all. So let me guess," he mused, as Ichigo turned away, snorting with annoyance. "You're having problems with love. Isn't that what it always is?"

Ichigo scowled into his drink.

"But you know what? I feel for you there. I was once in your position," the man sighed and gazed off into the distance. "I fell hard for this dark-skinned beauty. A martial artist and dancer with unbelievable purple hair, and the _fastest_ woman I've ever met."

Ichigo turned his head, interested despite himself. "A fast woman?"

The man shook his head. "Not in that sense. I meant, she was a fast _runner_. I chased her, but I could never catch her."

Ichigo stared at him, a picture filling his mind of the skinny, ungainly man running clumsily after a graceful and slender woman loping through the streets of Paris. He couldn't help snorting in laughter. "I'm seeing a woman who I can't even tell if she's fast. She looks so innocent."

The man pulled his hat down further over his eyes. "Hah, the innocent ones can fool you. You think they're as pure as the new-fallen snow, then all of a sudden you find the footprints of a hundred men."

"A _hundred_?" asked Ichigo, suddenly realizing that the twelve she had told him about could be only the beginning.

"Anyway, I suspected she was seeing this marathon runner. He was on the Olympic team and could keep up with her." The man stopped to take a sip of his drink.

"And?" Ichigo prompted, as the man lapsed into silence, staring off into space.

The man glanced at him. "I hired a private investigator. The best man in Paris. Somewhat expensive, but quite efficient and utterly discreet."

"Oh?" Ichigo sat up straight, focusing on the other man. "You're right. That might be the answer."

"Yes…" the blond mused. "It's always best to know. If they're innocent, your heart is at rest. If they're guilty, well, then…" He shrugged. "Either way, you know."

Ichigo leaned forward. "So can you tell me the name of this detective?"

"Uh, sure," said the man, patting his pockets. "I'm sure I have his card right here. Ah!" He drew out a small cardboard rectangle and handed it to Ichigo.

"Sora Inoue," the orange-haired man read. "Private Investigator."

XxXxXxX

Orihime lay on her stomach on her bed, drying her hair absently with her towel, humming the song 'Fascination' yet again, her eyes dreamy. Sora paused at the entrance to her room, contemplating her for a moment before he spoke.

"What is that song you're humming, Orihime?"

"Ah?" she said, distracted. "Just something I heard at the music conservatory, Sora." She went back to humming. He watched her a while longer.

"By my count," he commented, "you have washed your hair seventeen times in the past three weeks, Orihime. Very suspicious."

She blinked lazily up at him. "Suspicious?"

"Yes, and then there's my observation that you have begun to sleep on your stomach. According to recent research, sixty-three percent of women who sleep on their stomachs are secretly in love."

"In love, Sora?" she asked, her voice innocent.

"Additionally, you have gone through twice as much red bean paste as usual."

At that, she sat up, indignant. "Well, Sora, it's my favorite food."

"Finally, there have been mysterious clothing disappearances from our closet on a regular basis over the past three weeks. That green silk brocade, the full-length ermine fur coat…"

She was still indignant. "Everything was always returned, wasn't it?" She turned away and lay back down on the bed. He could see she was no longer even listening.

He shrugged. "Care to tell me who it is that you're in love with?"

She looked away with a secret smile. "Mmmm…. don't you think it's Uryuu?"

Sora shook his head, sighing. "My dear Orihime, somehow I don't think so." He gazed at her a moment longer. She was eighteen now and an adult, but she always seemed so young to him. He reminded himself that he himself had been only eighteen when he had been forced to make his way in the world while caring for a three-year-old child. However, somehow Orihime seemed much younger than eighteen.

He had seen so much disillusionment and heartbreak in the world, especially in his business. He had had to grow up very fast. He didn't want that to happen to her. He wanted to protect her, keep her innocent… for at least a little while longer. He sighed again. He was very busy right now; too busy to give his sister the attention she deserved. Soon, it would be time to invade her privacy, and find out who this secret love interest was. As soon as his business calmed down a bit.

Then the doorbell rang and he heaved a larger sigh. "I'm sorry. I'll go answer that. It's probably business. I'm terribly sorry that my business intrudes into your life so much, Orihime."

She waved his apologies away. "Oh, don't worry about it, Sora." The little smile crept over her face again. "I'll be fine."

XxXxXxX

Ichigo looked up at the modest brownstone on the Left Bank and shrugged. Telling his taxi to wait for him, he ascended two flights of stairs and rang the bell at the apartment on his right on the third-floor landing.

The door was answered by a man in his thirties with soft brown hair and brown eyes and a pleasant, nondescript face. The man's eyes widened as he caught sight of Ichigo.

"Monsieur Inoue? Sorry to barge in on you like this," Ichigo said brusquely, "but I have an urgent need, and you came highly recommended."

The man gave a knowing smirk and opened the door wider. "But of course. This is a great honor," he said, smiling more broadly. "Come right in, Monsieur Kurosaki."

Ichigo stared at him. "You know me?"

The man laughed. "Do I know you? Does an art student know Picasso? This way please," he said, ushering Ichigo into a small but tidy and well-appointed study. "Please sit down." He indicated a chair in front of his desk. "Can I get you anything?"

"No," said Ichigo bluntly. "I'm here on business and won't stay long. There's a girl who's driving me crazy and I want her followed. I want to find out who she is."

"Driving _you_ crazy? That's a reversal," Sora muttered in disbelief as he pulled out a notepad. "Please tell me everything you know about her. Let's begin with her name."

"I know nothing about her. Not even her name. That's the crazy part."

"Well, let's begin at the beginning then," Sora said. "Where did you meet her?"

"In my suite at the Ritz." He scowled. "She's got an uncanny talent for getting under my skin. It seems there are other men, quite a few of them. On the other hand, she might be pulling my leg. It's hard to tell, and it's driving me insane."

Sora scribbled on his notepad. "What does she say about these other men?"

"One of them's an alpine guide. She met him at a spa in Switzerland." Ichigo frowned at the memory.

Sora paused. "Ah. I think I might remember a case like this from my files." He went over to the filing cabinet, riffled through it. "Yes. An English duchess, age 45."

"No." Ichigo shook his head. "She's nowhere near 45, more like twenty. And there were others. A bullfighter from Spain. An import-export man."

Sora paused and gazed at Ichigo. "A bullfighter, then an import-export man?" His eyes flicked to his file cabinet again. "This is sounding very familiar. Almost too familiar. What did the man import and export?"

Ichigo made an impatient gesture. "I can't remember. Something odd." His forehead wrinkled. "Ah, red bean paste, that was it."

Sora was shaking his head, a pensive look in his eyes. He shot a glance at the closed door of Orihime's room. "Can you describe her?"

Ichigo got a faraway look in his eyes that Sora had never seen in him before, not once in any of the times he'd had him under surveillance while working for other clients. He noticed that Ichigo's eyes were a warm brown. That was odd; he had always thought the man had pale eyes.

"She's… well, she's beautiful," Ichigo said, his voice soft. "She has the sweetest face, huge grey eyes, and the longest lashes you've ever seen." There was a small smile on his face. "She has long reddish-blonde hair about to here—" He indicated a point about half-way down his back. "And her figure… ah, her figure—" Sora's eyes widened in amazement as the man actually blushed. "Is exceptionally, ah, well-developed. But she has the tiniest of waists." The man held out both his hands as though spanning the woman's waist with them.

Sora's eyes narrowed. It must surely be a coincidence. His eyes flicked to the door of Orihime's room again. The door and the transom were tightly shut. There must be many other women in Paris who met that description, who had dated, or claimed to have dated, an alpine guide, a bullfighter, and an import-export man… who dealt in red bean paste. He frowned. "What kind of clothing does she wear?"

Ichigo scowled in return. "It's odd. The clothing is always quite elegant, but… almost haphazard, sometimes strange. She wore a green brocade dress once, and then, came to my suite once in a full-length fur coat. In the middle of summer!" He shook his head.

Sora stared as suspicion began to dawn in his eyes. "Ermine?" he asked.

Ichigo gawped at him. "Why, yes. How did you know? You _are_ good," he proclaimed.

Sora shrugged and gave him a tight smile. "Sometimes, in my profession, you get lucky."

"Well, anyway," said Ichigo, "she'll be coming to my hotel suite this afternoon and leaving around five. Are you good enough to follow her without letting her know?"

Sora quirked an eyebrow. "Did you ever notice me following _you_?"

"What?" asked Ichigo, looking blank.

"So I'm good," asserted Sora. He stood up to escort his visitor to the door, a polite smile on his face, but his heart heavy. "Don't worry, sir. I should be able to close your case quickly."

As Ichigo started down the steps, Sora's thoughts were racing. There was one thing he needed to know before he took action. He called after the man, "One moment, sir. Are you interested in this young lady?"

"Interested?" Ichigo paused on the stairs, looking back at Sora. "What do you mean?"

"Are you in love with her?"

The orange-haired man hesitated for a long moment, but then his eyes turned pale and his expression careless. "Who said anything about love? I'm interested, yes, but I have many interests."

"I see," said Sora as he turned away with a sigh. "Well, good day then."


	4. Chapter 4

**Fascination – Chap. 4**

**A/N:** Here is the final chapter of _Fascination_. I hope you enjoy it.

**Disclaimer:** This story contains Bleach characters and is based on the plot of the 1957 Billy Wilder movie "Love in the Afternoon." Includes quotes and portions of scenes from that movie. I do not own Bleach or Love in the Afternoon.

(Originally posted 8/21/2011.)

XxXxXxX

The next day, there was a knock at Ichigo's hotel suite. When he opened the door to see Sora Inoue there, his eyebrows lifted. "You do work fast. Please come in," he said, ushering the detective to a seat on the couch.

"Brandy?" he asked, lifting a cut-glass decanter from a silver tray on the sideboard.

The detective shook his head, his face serious. "Monsieur Kurosaki, I have the complete report ready for you." He held out a single sheet of paper.

Ichigo stared in disbelief at the thin file. "That can't be very complete."

Sora smiled. "Her name is Orihime. She's a student at the music conservatory. Plays the cello."

"Orihime." He tasted the syllables on his tongue. "At the music conservatory, eh?" Ichigo pondered this as Sora continued. He poured himself a glass of brandy, set the decanter back on the sideboard.

"The young lady lives on the Left Bank." Sora was holding his hat in one hand, leaning forward on the couch, not reading from his report, but looking directly at Ichigo.

"Alone?" Ichigo couldn't keep a note of hopefulness out of his voice with the question. He moved to the couch and sat at the other end from the brown-haired man, his glass in his hand.

"No." Sora's face was neutral.

Ichigo's face fell. "With a man?"

"Yes."

He lifted the brandy glass to his lips to hide his expression. "Her husband?" he asked after a moment's hesitation.

Now it was Sora's turn to hesitate. He placed the file on his lap and laid his hat on top of it before he answered. "Her brother."

"Her brother!" The glass forgotten at his side, Ichigo's eyebrows climbed nearly to the top of his head.

"As for the other men in her life," Sora continued.

Ichigo's eyes narrowed. "How many?" he asked grimly.

Sora looked at him for a long moment. "Just one. You."

"Me?" asked Ichigo in disbelief. He sat back on the couch, gulped the brandy, and then scowled at the detective. "Are you sure you did a thorough investigation on her?"

Sora looked up from the papers on his lap. He gave a very long sigh. "Monsieur Kurosaki, I know everything about her since the day she was born. She's had a very quiet life. She's never even been in love before."

"Oh come now." Ichigo was taken aback. He set the glass on the end table, his hand shaking a little, and there was silence in the room. Then his eyes lit with a pale light as he turned his gaze on Sora, and his mouth hardened. "You mean, she's been making all this up all this time? Why that little— hmph." He pinched his lips together, then let out his breath, his eyes shifting color once again. "What an imagination!"

"Yes," said Sora patiently, "she is very imaginative."

Ichigo got up and paced to the end of the room, agitated. He walked back and forth twice, then three times. Then he spun around to face Sora. "I think I'll stick around Paris this summer, skip the Riviera this year. She's too much fun."

Sora shook his head slowly. "You've had your fun. Now you'd better leave before it's too late."

Ichigo gawked at him. "Too late for what?"

Sora's face took on a stern expression. "Your record shows that every time a girl gets serious, you run. And she's very serious, so you better start running."

Ichigo glared at him, outraged. "I hired you to give me information, not advice." The other man shrugged, but stood his ground and met his stare steadfastly. Ichigo took out his wallet. "Very well. How much do I owe you?"

Sora picked up his hat and stood to go. His face was sad. "There will be no charge."

"Why not?" Ichigo demanded, still angry at the other's presumption.

Sora turned at the doorway and faced him fully. He met the man's eyes and held them. "Because she's my little sister." As Ichigo gaped again, Sora went on, his voice becoming almost pleading, "Give her a chance. She's so helpless. Such a little fish. Throw her back in the water." Then he was gone.

XxXxXxX

The rain streaked the windows of Ichigo's hotel suite as he stared unseeing out into the familiar vista. He fiddled restlessly with the curtain pull cord weights as his eyes tracked the view outside the window. Grey clouds hung low overhead, and below his window, passersby huddled against the downpour, splashing across the streets and disappearing into the mist only a block or two away.

He wanted to continue his relationship with Orihime Inoue. But it was true, what Sora had said. He had never wanted to get serious with anyone. He liked Orihime. He liked her a lot. But he wasn't any good for her. Selfishly, he admitted to himself, he didn't want to stop. He wanted to keep seeing her. But Sora's words echoed in his mind. "She's such a little fish. Throw her back in the water." It would be best for her if he let her go. Broke it off gently. While she still felt she had to keep up the pretense of being a worldly-wise femme fatale. That would keep it peaceful. No scenes.

He sighed. Despite his playboy life, he really had tried not to hurt anyone. He had stayed away, mostly, from the serious ones because he knew they could be hurt. He had not wanted to take anyone's innocence. He had sometimes wondered if his jet-setting life full of parties was worth it. His father and sisters, he knew, frowned on that part of him.

But sometimes, he just couldn't help himself. When that part of him came out, the inner part with no conscience and raging cravings, he just had to indulge it occasionally, or risk losing complete control. It had been a bargain he had struck long ago, a bargain with that side of him. The part that raged and hungered. The deal was simple. He kept that part fed and satisfied, and in return, he was able to maintain control of his life. Mostly. But it seemed that it had become harder and harder to maintain, and that he was becoming more and more dissatisfied.

His restless hands stilled. He had never met a woman who could satisfy both parts of him. The crazy wild man who craved beautiful and desirable women, and the quieter part of him, the part that had been submerged for a long time. The part that yearned for a more innocent lifestyle. For the deep satisfaction of true connection… the kind of connection he hadn't really felt since his beloved mother had died.

At her tragic death when he was just a teen, he had run away. He had buried the quieter part of himself, the part that had known and loved her. He had become loud enough to drown out any whimpers from that part of his self. He had poured himself into partying, and then into his father's business, achieving astonishing success in a rather short time.

"_Sir, I'm pleased to report that your son has turned around the Bankai Division. The financial forecast estimated that it would take ten years to make that division profitable. Your son has begun to turn a profit in three days."_

He had believed that his life was justified because he was financially successful. That that was all that mattered. Because he had winning formulas for success in business… and, he believed, in romance.

But now he was realizing that he knew nothing about romance.

He spun away from the window, angry at himself. She was an innocent, and therefore too good for him. He would not hurt an innocent soul. And as he thought this, he realized there was more. More than just his desire not to hurt someone. He realized he loved her. He loved her passionately and deeply. He wanted nothing more than to take her sweet face between his hands, to feel her soft lips against his, to press that eager body against his own, to _take_ her as his own… not just for the afternoons, but for always.

He punched his fist into the back of the couch.

How long would it be before he got interested in another woman, and hurt the one left behind again? Before he hurt _her_? He didn't trust himself. It was better to break it off now, before she got in any deeper. If he truly loved her, he would let her go, now rather than later, when it would be far more painful… for her. He clenched his fists.

There was a knock at the door.

His heart pounded as he saw her standing at the door, a gentle, happy smile on her face, her eyes alight with what he now recognized was pure love. His heart broke inside him, but he steeled himself.

"Oh, hi, there," he said, forcing casualness into his voice. "I don't have long today because I'm about to catch the train to Cannes." He deliberately looked away from her face as he saw it fall. "I looked out the window and saw that rain and I decided just like that." He snapped his fingers. "It's time to go to the Riviera." She was staring at him, her face working. He looked away again. "After the Riviera, I thought I'd go on to Athens. You know that Greek women have the whitest skin in the world."

"Oh," was all she said, and it broke his heart all over again.

Relentlessly, he went on. "I knew you'd understand. You French girls have the right idea. Love and leave, no big production, no hysterics, and no mascara running. I knew you'd never cry." He looked back at her.

Her eyes were bright. "No. I never cry," she agreed. Then, gamely, she took up the charade once more. "I did cry once. Number 14. He slammed my hand in the car door. That hurt."

He nodded, moving to the bedroom and pulling out his suitcases one by one. She watched as he began throwing clothes into the suitcase on the bed.

There was a too-perky smile on her face as she said, "I always had to help the bullfighter with his packing. You know those bright red capes need to be folded just so into the suitcase so they will still swirl properly in the ring." She fell silent, continuing to watch his movements.

He latched the suitcase, drew out another. He carefully avoided looking at her, but he could see her artificially-still face out of the corner of his eye.

As he locked the last suitcase, she broke her silence. "Can I come to the station with you?" she asked.

Ichigo spun to face her. Her eyes were bright, but her expression was composed. "In this rain?" he asked in disbelief.

She swallowed, and then lifted her chin. "Well, if I come home too early, the man I live with might get suspicious."

He stared at her, hesitating. He supposed it wouldn't hurt to spend another hour with her. "All right."

XxXxXxX

They were walking along the platform at the Gare de Lyon train station, the rain pouring down in sheets, the wet and cranky crowds bustling, shoving, and shouting. Ichigo was frowning and walking rapidly, and Orihime was tagging along slightly behind him, chattering lightly in a voice that sometimes broke.

"I'm sure everything's going to be fine… but it's going to seem a little strange and lonely after you've gone. At least for the first few afternoons."

"You'll be all right," he said, brusquely.

"Will you be coming back to Paris next year?" she asked.

He gave his best effort at an indifferent shrug. "Maybe, if I'm in the neighborhood."

She nodded. "I better check at the Ritz once in a while." Then she caught herself. "If I'm in the neighborhood."

He looked at her and then wished he hadn't. Tears were glistening on her cheeks. "What's the matter?" he asked, hating himself for sounding so uncaring.

She blinked and rubbed her eyes. "Nothing," she insisted. "It's just the rain. It's making my face wet."

She paused and looked up at him. They had reached his platform, where the train stood waiting, almost ready for departure. The conductor was making the final call, his distorted voice echoing throughout the station. People all around them were making their last goodbyes and boarding the train, waving out of windows.

He directed the porter to load his suitcases onto the train car, glad of the excuse of tipping the man to turn away from her face. He swung up the two metal steps onto the train, and then paused. It was agony to turn back, to gaze one last time at her. She was beautiful, even with her large eyes wet with tears, looking up at him almost beseechingly, her smooth skin pale under those masses of auburn hair glittering with raindrops. He took a deep breath and drank her in with his eyes. He wanted to imprint her image on his brain forever.

"Goodbye…" he said, trying to keep his voice steady. He couldn't ignore the nagging feeling that he was throwing away the one thing that he had ever had in his life that had been worthwhile. Why was he doing this? Then he reminded himself of what Sora had said. He would only hurt her worse if they stayed together any longer. He needed to let her go. For her sake.

"Goodbye." Her voice broke, then she tossed her head as the train began to move. She started walking along beside it, her eyes on his. "Don't worry about me," she said, gamely. "I'll have plenty of company. It'll be another wild and crazy year." Her lips spread in a grin that didn't reach her eyes. "There've been so many men before. There will be so many after that." The train started picking up speed, and she began jogging alongside, her face turned upward, the rain mingling with her tears. He couldn't look away from her face, his eyes fixed on her wide eyes, her resolute smile as she continued, her voice light, only occasionally breaking with barely suppressed emotion. She was so brave. "When you're in Cannes, I'll be with the banker with Biarritz. He wants to give me a Mercedes Benz." Her eyes locked on his defiantly.

"It's a blue one, my favorite color," she said, panting now as she was running alongside the train as its speed picked up again. "So you see," she gasped, " I'll be perfectly all right. I'll be all right," she insisted again.

Suddenly, Ichigo couldn't bear it any longer. He couldn't bear to be parted from her for a second. It didn't matter that it wasn't right, that she could surely find someone better than him.

He was going to keep her beside him, no matter what. He reached out abruptly and swept her up into his arms, lifting her off her feet as though she weighed nothing, carrying her into the train and setting her down in a compartment. She blinked up at him with astonished eyes.

"Monsieur Kurosaki, what are you doing?" she asked, looking into his warm brown eyes from only inches away.

Then he was kissing her, tasting the salty tears on her lips and vowing to himself that he would never make her cry again. He would give up everything, would beat his inner beast into submission to keep her happy… He would never look at another woman, because this one was all and everything to him. He had been wrong, so wrong, to almost let her go. If his mother had been here she would have slapped some sense into him earlier. What had he been doing with his life, trying to fill the emptiness in all the wrong places? The floodgates of his emotions opened, and he pressed her to him, acknowledging what he had been trying so desperately to deny, that she was the only one who could fill him, could complete him. She was the only one. He kissed her again, stroked her hair back from her face as the tears streaked her skin and a confused murmur escaped her lips.

He found that suddenly, even his inner self, the part of himself he thought he couldn't trust, that he thought he would have to suppress, even that part of him seemed to be clamoring in agreement, that all that mattered was for Orihime to be with him, for her to be happy, forever, in this lifetime, and beyond.

"Shhh, Orihime," he murmured, saying her name for the first time, running both thumbs over her lips as she made a surprised, incoherent noise at the sound of her name. "Be quiet; don't worry any more." She looked up at him, her eyes wide and soft. He held her face tightly between both hands and kissed her again, his lips meeting and taking hers as though he were desperate and couldn't get enough of her; her mouth was warm and sweet and tasted of something utterly precious; and in that moment he felt again that connection he had shut out years before in fear and panic and loss, and he realized that there was something ineluctably familiar about kissing Orihime, like coming home. He was coming home, and their kiss was not something new but something he remembered from deep, deep within, as he realized anew what she meant to him, what she had always meant to him and what she would always mean for him. He kissed her over and over again, and as he drew back for a moment she blinked up at him in dawning hope. "Orihime," he said, "I love you."

XxXxXxX

_**Investigator's Final Report**_

_And so it happened that on Monday, July 7th , 1952, the case of Orihime Inoue and Ichigo Kurosaki came up before the superior judge in Cannes. It came to a successful resolution, and they are now married, serving a life sentence in New York._

_Respectfully submitted,_

_Sora Inoue_

~THE END~

XxXxXxX

**A/N:** I've had a couple of questions in the reviews about the ending... To explain, that is a line from the movie. It was supposed to be a joke, because Sora was a private detective and dealt with criminals, that a marriage was a "life sentence." :p The judge was a justice of the peace who married the two of them. In the fifties, this movie's era, jokes about women "catching" men and "trapping" them into marriage were common. :p


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